


The One Place I Will Always Feel Safe

by Aethelflaed



Series: BT Tower Telephone Group F [4]
Category: Good Omens (TV)
Genre: Asexual Aziraphale (Good Omens), Asexual Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale Loves Crowley (Good Omens), Aziraphale's Bookshop (Good Omens), Broken Bones, Comforting Crowley (Good Omens), Crowley Loves Aziraphale (Good Omens), Do-It-With-Style Event, Healing, Hurt Aziraphale (Good Omens), Hurt/Comfort, Ineffable Husbands (Good Omens), Love, M/M, POV Aziraphale (Good Omens), Pain, Post-Canon, Prompt Fic, Protective Crowley (Good Omens), Safety, Undressing, Wings, but in a totally non-sexual way
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-25
Updated: 2020-09-25
Packaged: 2021-03-08 04:28:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,065
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649808
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aethelflaed/pseuds/Aethelflaed
Summary: After a dangerous encounter, Aziraphale returns to the bookshop badly wounded and too drained to heal himself.Of course, demon's can't heal; everyone knows that. Or rather, they can heal, but it isn't pleasant.Does Aziraphale trust Crowley enough to take him up on his offer?--Written for the Do It With Style Telephone event
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: BT Tower Telephone Group F [4]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1937884
Comments: 13
Kudos: 169
Collections: Hurt Aziraphale





	The One Place I Will Always Feel Safe

**Author's Note:**

> For this fic I was given a partially redacted work written by Zeckarin, and instructed to draw my prompt from what I could still read.
> 
> I decided, if I'm doing hurt/comfort, I should do as much hurt as I could fit into 1000 words!
> 
> After I completed the story, it was partially redacted and passed along to another creator, who wrote their own work, and so on down a chain of 9 writers and artists, including myself. This series contains all the works in this chain.

Aziraphale stumbled into the bookshop, hand pressed tight against his ribs. They ached - every breath a struggle - but it was nothing to the pain in his back.

He locked the door, stumbling towards the kitchen. Ice. Bandages. What else?

Halfway there, his legs gave out and he collapsed against the chair.

They were gone. He  _ knew _ they hadn’t followed him. But he couldn’t convince his shaking legs, his racing heart. Fear surged through him, overwhelming even the pain. No strength to fight again, to heal himself...

A drop of blood on the chair.  _ Where did that come from? _ His fingers searched his face, finding cuts and bruises he hadn’t noticed in the rush to get to safety.

The door burst open.

Aziraphale spun to face the intruder, hands groping frantically for any weapon--

“Angel?”

“Crowley!” Relief surged through him. The demon slunk around the corner, but his smile fell, golden eyes wide. Aziraphale tugged at his waistcoat. Two buttons missing, the fabric torn. “Oh, dear. I must look…”

“What the Heaven happened?” He closed the distance in two strides, hand cupping the angel’s chin, tilting it up. One thumb brushed Aziraphale’s lip, coming away red with blood.

“Angels. No one important, really,” he assured Crowley. “Apparently, Gabriel said some, er, incendiary things about me. And, well, a few of them thought to, ah, settle matters themselves.”

“But...the Hellfire...”

“Seems that was the one part they  _ didn’t  _ believe.” Aziraphale chuckled, making his ribs ache anew.

“What is it? What’s wrong?” Crowley’s fingers brushed aside Azirapahle’s jacket, searching.

“Don’t fuss. Cracked ribs, nothing more.” Aziraphale waved him away. “Yes, it hurts to breathe, but I don’t _have_ to breathe.” Crowley didn’t look convinced. “I just need to...to numb the pain. I can heal myself-- Oh!” When he stepped back, pain shot up his spine again. He staggered, almost collapsing against Crowley’s chest.

“Sofa. Now.”

Aziraphale tutted, but let Crowley lead his slow shuffling steps across the room. He sank with relief onto soft cushions, drained from even that short walk.

Crowley sat beside him, brow furrowed. “I can...heal you.”

“No you can’t.” Demons couldn’t  _ heal. _ He knew that; he’d tended Crowley’s wounds hundreds, thousands of times for that very reason.

But golden eyes shifted away, uncomfortable. “I...can. Sort of. It’s just...really unpleasant. Feels as bad as whatever hurt you in the first place. But just for a second…” He glanced up, searched Aziraphale’s face, and abruptly stood. “No, course not. Stupid. I’ll--”

“Wait.” Aziraphale grabbed Crowley’s hand. “Stay.”

His mind was still a fog of confusion: fear and pain and exhaustion. But he always felt safest with Crowley.

Long hands rested on his knees as Crowley knelt before him. “How, ah…” Aziraphale traced his fingers across Crowley’s. “How does it work?”

“Pretty easy.” Crowley gently touched Aziraphale’s nose. There was a shock - like being punched - and then the pain was gone. “But I have to touch each one. Um. The skin…” He glanced at the waistcoat, voice rough with embarrassment.

“Of course, dear. But I’ll need your help.”

He couldn’t remove the jacket himself; each movement of his left arm brought another shot of pain through his ribs and up his back. Even with Crowley’s assistance, his elbow jerked around too much, though he tried not to let it show. While the demon set aside the folded jacket, Aziraphale loosened his tie and unfasted buttons with fumbling fingers.

“You, ah, aren’t wearing your glasses,” he said, avoiding the burning intensity of those eyes.

“Nh.” Crowley helped to ease off the tattered waistcoat, handling the ruined garment as if it were the finest silk. “I don’t...” He lay the waistcoat gently on the table, eyes suddenly uncertain. “Do I need them with you?”

“I...suppose not…”

Braces slid down his shoulders. The light blue shirt took ages, pausing now and again to let the pain subside; and last, the white vest, carefully peeled up and over his head.

His whole side -- from armpit to navel - was dark and discolored like rotten fruit. “Well. Ah.”

“Are you sure?”

Aziraphale clutched at the sofa, bracing himself. “Yes.”

A brush of fingers--

A jarring, shattering impact, as if struck by a building--

And Aziraphale could breathe again.

“Oh my word!” He sucked in as much as his lungs could hold and smiled, despite the twinge in his back. “This feels marvelous--”

“What else?”

“I’m sure I don’t know what--” Aziraphale glanced at Crowley’s face, suddenly pale, golden eyes strained. His hand pressed against black-clad ribs. “Crowley! What…No!” Aziraphale tugged frantically at Crowley’s shirt. “You said you’d  _ heal _ me! What did you--”

“S’fine.” Crowley brushed his hands away. “I felt what you felt. It’ll fade soon. But I  _ know _ there’s more.”

Aziraphale shook his head. “It’s too much.”

Crowley’s thumb brushed his split lip, healing it with a warm shock. “It really isn’t.”

Sighing, Aziraphale brought out his wings. The right shot heavenwards, arcing gracefully down. The left…

“Ah!” Pain intensified, sharp as fire where bone had snapped. The weight of the wing pulled the fracture, splitting it, grinding it. Aziraphale clenched his eyes shut, but Crowley’s sharp hiss said enough.

The sofa shifted, and he felt hot fingers resting lightly between his wings. “I hope you gave as good as you got.”

“Always, my dear fellow. They won’t bother us again.”

Long legs slipped alongside Aziraphale’s, an arm around his waist, bracing him. “I...ah, this will be...”

Aziraphale found the hand resting on his stomach, lacing their fingers together. “I’m ready.”

A gentle touch smoothed across his feathers.

The click echoed through the shop as his wing sprang into shape, muscles and tendons twanging like bowstrings.

There were no words, just a deep, blunt agony that raced through them both. Twin screams of pain as they writhed and arced their backs, arms and legs twining, pulling them closer--

Then it was over, leaving a warm numbness behind.

Aziraphale collapsed against Crowley, sinking into his grasp, as they toppled onto the sofa.

“You did good, Angel,” he murmured, chin settling atop Aziraphale’s head.

“Oh…Oh, Crowley...can’t thank you enough…” He shifted his weight. “Does it hurt?”

“Doesn’t matter.” Midnight wings materialized, surrounding them, pulling Aziraphale close. One hand rested protectively over freshly-healed ribs. “Anything for you. Rest. I got you.”

Aziraphale drifted to sleep, engulfed in the warmth, the smell, the  _ safety  _ of Crowley.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading!
> 
> This was, of course, inspired by the previous work mentioning a broken wing and a healing and my brain deciding to take that and run with it like a dog that spotted an unattended bacon sandwich.
> 
> I might consider expanding on this fic in a second chapter (I would like to talk a bit more about the dynamic in Heaven that led to Aziraphale being attacked, as well as Crowley's not-really-functional healing). Please let me know in a comment if you would be interested!
> 
> I have one more fic of my own, to be posted later today - but head over to [DoItWithStyleEvents](https://archiveofourown.org/users/doitwithstyleevents) to browse about a hundred fics and artists from this event!

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Angelic Comfort](https://archiveofourown.org/works/26649592) by [kerkusa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/kerkusa/pseuds/kerkusa)




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